


Valea

by the_strength_of_the_storm



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:16:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6282475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_strength_of_the_storm/pseuds/the_strength_of_the_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the nightmarish events of Adamant, the Inquisitor isn't herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valea

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I wish I owned Dragon Age. That'd be awesome...but I don't. I only own the name Azriel and Azriel's character, but creds to DAI for actually letting me create her. Rights to producers and everyone else's, feedback and constructive criticism welcomed!! Please enjoy!  
> Valea = be strong  
> Ma aureum: my golden one/golden one
> 
> Note: I haven't posted many Dorian fics, but Dorian and my Inquisitor, although she's a woman, have a strong relationship.

Valea

She left Skyhold for Adamant the Inquisitor; when she returned, she was just Azriel Trevelyan. He took it upon himself to sit with her the first few nights the dreams plagued her sleep. In the early dawn hours, he left little notes on the empty pillow beside her and returned to his quarters. Neither of them were graced with sleep that month. When he got up to leave, he was simply stare at her for minutes until his chest felt like it would explode and the lump in his throat blocked air and he thought he would cry right there. Sometimes he did, but it was never around her. He would hold it back, and dip down to lightly kiss her hair, and murmur "valea" in her ear. Then, and only then, would he leave her.   
And when he woke up alone in his bed when would roll over and rub the base of his wrists into his dry eyes, knowing that again he too had dreamt of Adamant and cried over it. At first he was furious with himself for weeping in his sleep, but it soon became no surprise to him and with a heavy heart, he accepted it.  
She once came to him in the library and asked him what "valea" meant, if it was Tevene or some other language, if it was even a word at all. When he asked why she needed to know, she told him she had seen it, heard it whispered and drawn in her dreams, in the voice of a man but who's voice she didn't know. He nodded and gravely told her that "valea" meant "be strong" in Tevene, and it was sometimes used as a formal farewell. She thanked him and left.  
But that night, in the early hours of dawn, a cold breeze swept into his room briefly and hung there. He hadn't been asleep. She silently walked over and stroked his hair gently for a minute, then whispered:  
"Valea, Dorian. Thank you."  
But he didn't just accept it. He rolled over and pulled her into his arms, and they cried together just like that for what seemed like hours. And when finally, when it seemed over and they were just trembling and shaking in each other's arms, he held her tear-streaked cheeks in his hand and looked at her through watery eyes.  
"No, thank you, ma aureum."


End file.
